


If I Lend it to You (will you keep it safe for me?)

by msgenevieve



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Expanded Canon, F/M, Mild Angst, Missing Scenes, UST, post-411
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msgenevieve/pseuds/msgenevieve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later, her mother tells her that she literally flew up the spiral staircase of the clock tower, and Emma has to admit she can’t actually remember her feet touching the steps. Post-411, missing scenes and expanded canon abound, spoilers for 411 galore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Lend it to You (will you keep it safe for me?)

**Author's Note:**

> Real Life and work have been super busy (hello week-before-Christmas!), so this seems to have taken me forever to write, and I am so excited because now I can read all those wonderful post-411 fics I’ve seen on my dash but not allowed myself to click - hurrah! The title for this story comes from Depeche Mode’s “It’s Called a Heart” in honour of Killian Jones’ fabulous paisley shirts.

 

~*~

 

Later, her mother tells her that she literally flew up the spiral staircase of the clock tower, and Emma has to admit she can’t actually remember her feet touching the steps.

Even so, it still seems to take forever to reach him, like she’s still frozen by Gold’s dark magic, her arms and legs refusing to co-operate.  Every passing second brings a fresh wave of horror, the images she’s just seen being branded into her brain again and again.  Finally she stops, breathless, in front of the man who promised her –  _promised_ her, damn him _–_  that she didn’t have to worry about him, so many questions buzzing in her head that only the most inane of words manage to make their way out of her mouth.

“You okay?”

Killian smiles, his eyes glowing almost as much as the vital organ he’s cradling against his chest.  “All the better for seeing you, I must say.”  Her arm twitches with the urge to punch him, very hard, but she settles for a brief, bruising hug, pulling away only when he murmurs a soft protest.  “Watch the heart, darling.”  

“Talk about wearing it on your sleeve,” she mutters, and his smile broadens. 

“It’s been in your keeping, Swan, for longer than I care to admit.” She barely has time to let his words sink in before he places his heart in her palm, then curls her fingers around it tightly.  “But perhaps you’d be kind enough to return it to its usual mooring?”

Somewhere below them, she hears her mother speaking, saying something about going to fetch David to check on Belle, but the words barely register.  The thrumming heart in her hands seems to fall into time with the rapid beat of her own pulse.  She’s not sure what she expected it to feel like, but it’s neither cold nor hot.  It simply shimmers and glows against her skin, and tears start to prickle at the back of her eyes when the reality of what she’s cradling hits home.  “Not here.”  Even now, she can feel the lingering remnants of Gold’s dark magic, like a sharpness scratching at her skin, and she wants Killian’s heart as far away from it as possible.  Cradling it against her chest - against  _her_  heart – she puts her other hand on his shoulder and closes her eyes.

An instant later, they’re standing in Granny’s, swaying together in the corridor behind the kitchen. “How the devil did you manage that?”

“I don’t know.”  She feels the familiar mix of pride and embarrassment that always comes whenever she manages a new trick.  “I just closed my eyes and thought about where I wanted to go.”  

He looks around them, a slow smile stretching his mouth as he obviously gets his bearings.  “Ah.”  

That one word speaks volumes, and she clutches his heart to her chest a little tighter. “What?”

“Your sense of direction is almost perfect, love.”  He waves towards the ceiling with his hook, his smile becoming decidedly smug.  “I do believe we’re directly below my quarters.”

Heat prickles her scalp, but she can’t help smiling back at him. She’s holding his freaking heart in her hands, and he’s flirting with her as though it’s just another evening in Storybrooke.  Deciding that here’s as good as any place to fix this mess, she gazes at the glowing heart in her hands - there are dark shadows flickering in its depths, making her own heart clench - and anxiety twists through her. 

God, what if she doesn’t do it right?

“Swan.”  His voice is soft, and she glances up to find him looking at her with so much trust in his eyes that it’s almost painful to see.   “You can do this.”

She shifts his heart from one hand to the other, then takes a deep breath. “Okay.” 

He gives her a reassuring smile, as if he couldn’t be in safer hands. “Just be gent-”

She thrusts the heart against his chest, her whole hand tingling as magic flows through her and into  _him_. He grunts, his face twisted in a grimace, then her hand is empty and he’s looking at her as though he doesn’t know if he wants to spank her or kiss the hell out of her.  “Sorry.”  She stares at him, searching his face for any signs that she’s done it all wrong.  “I just thought that if I did it quickly, it would be like ripping off a-”

He doesn’t let her finish. 

Dipping his head, he kisses her, hard, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head, holding her close as his mouth devours hers. 

_I know how you kiss._

They stagger backwards and her spine meets the wall of Granny’s corridor with a dull thud, but she doesn’t care. All that matters is the feel of him pressed against her, the taste of his kiss, hot and fierce, and his hand tangling in her hair.  Heat streaks through her, making her skin flush and her heartbeat race, and she sinks into him, the edges between them melting and blurring.  It’s a very different kind of magic, a hard-won enchantment she came so close to losing tonight, and she tightens her grip on his jacket, hauling him closer.

(She can feel his heart hammering against hers.) 

(As soon as he gets his strength back, she’s going to kill him herself.)

The kiss ends long before she’s ready, and she chases his lips with hers, breathing him in, feeling the tiny aftershocks running through the hard body pressed so close to hers.  “I told you, Swan,” he whispers as he smiles into her eyes, the hard edges of his features finally softening.  “I’m a survivor.”

Joy bubbles up inside her like champagne, and she can feel her smile stretching from ear to ear.  Her knees are still trembling with a distracting blend of relief and desire, and the same quiver shakes her hands as she lifts them to cup his face.  “If I say I believe you, do you think  _maybe_  you could stop finding ways to convince me?”

His response is to kiss her again, and this time it’s slow and unhurried, his mouth as warm as the hand exploring the curve of her neck, his thumb dancing lightly over the hollow of her throat.   The wall still at her back, she pulls him closer, unable to stop the moan that rises in her throat at the feel of him against her, all sharp edges and firm heat.  He says her name, just once, his lips grazing her jaw, her cheek, before finding her mouth with his again, a claiming and a reaffirmation and a promise.

Time slows and stretches ( _tick tock_ ), the world around her dissolving in the face of pure pleasure, and it’s only when she hears the distant sound of music and laughter from the diner at the front of the building that she summons the willpower to pull away.  “We’ve got a lot to talk about,” she tells him, pressing a lingering kiss to his mouth, letting her nose nudge his, and feels his lips twist in a fleeting smile. 

“Aye, I suppose we do.” 

He sways on his feet as he speaks, and she literally feels the instant the adrenalin begins to drain away.  His whole body seems to sag, a heavy sigh heaving from his chest, and she curls her arms around his waist as he presses his forehead against hers.

“Right now, though, I think we should get you into bed.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say those words, Swan.”

“To sleep,” she shoots back, her pulse quickening even as she rebukes him with a soft laugh.  “I’d prefer you fully charged for anything more strenuous.”

His eyes glow, a brilliant hunger shining beneath the aching weariness she sees there, but he nods in agreement, even if it  _is_  with obvious reluctance.  “As you wish, milady.”

A ridiculous thrill ripples through her at the words - he can’t know what they mean, surely? – and she slips her arm around his waist.  “Should I ask Granny for some food?”

He shakes his head as they make their way to the stairs that lead to the accommodation on the floor above.  “Perhaps later.”   He drapes his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.  “Now that I think of it, food didn’t taste entirely normal whilst the Crocodile had my heart.”

_Oh, God._ Tears prick at her eyes, and she almost missed the first step of the staircase.  When she gets hold of Gold, she’s going to take great pleasure in punching his nose right off his smug little face. 

(And when she sees Belle next, well, she’s not sure how she can possibly thank her enough for what she did.)

A few minutes later, Killian’s sitting on the edge of his bed, looking as though he’s ready to sleep for a week.  Emma sinks down beside him, suddenly feeling weirdly awkward.  It’s the first time she’s been in his room, and the air is imbued with the warm, familiar scent of him. She knows the sheets would smell the same, and the temptation to stay with him and damn the consequences is almost overwhelming. 

It gets worse when he toes off his boots and threads his hand through hers.  “If you have somewhere else to be, love-”

He breaks off, leaving the ball in her court, just as he always does, and her stomach flips over.  It would be so easy to kiss him now and let the inevitable unfold, but this is not how she wants this to happen.  Not when there’s still so much left unsaid between them, not when panic and fear are still blurring her feelings.  “I’ll stay until you fall asleep, then I just need to check on a few things.”   She gives into the urge to kiss him, the soft warmth of his mouth both a comfort and temptation of the best kind, then pulls back, her heart seeming to be lodged somewhere in her throat.  “I’ll come back, I promise.”

His bright eyes look almost feverish, and she makes a mental note to ask Whale about any possible after-effects.  “Looking forward to it already, Swan.”

She helps him out of his coat and vest and hook, her hands lingering longer than they should (again, she’s her own worst enemy).  As soon as he’s horizontal, his eyes close, and a moment later his breathing is soft and steady.  Her throat tight with everything she needs to tell him (she loves him, _loves_  him, and tonight she almost lost him), she brushes her knuckles against the curve of his cheek.  In sleep, his features are gentle, almost boyish, and she has to catch her bottom lip between her teeth to stop it from trembling. 

She waits another few moments to make sure he’s well and truly asleep (if she spends the time stroking his face or his hair, well, that’s her business), then carefully gets to her feet.   She needs to call her mother, she needs to check on Henry, she needs to make sure that Regina hasn’t fallen off the villain wagon after sending Robin across the town line.

And when all that is done, she’ll be coming right back here, because it’s time for her to start thinking about her own damned happy ending.

 

~*~

 

He’s still dozing when she returns two hours later, and she’s not sure if she’s relieved or disappointed.  She’s got a lot to tell him (the last two hours have been  _very_  enlightening), but as soon as she steps into the darkened room and shuts the door firmly behind her, she feels a sense of peace she hasn’t felt in days.  Any new developments can wait _,_  she decides.  Right now, this is more important.

_He’s_ more important.

“Hey.”  Perching herself on the edge of his bed, she runs her fingers through the silky black mess of his hair.  “How are you feeling?”

He looks at her with bleary eyes, but his smile lights up his whole face.  “Much more like my dashing self, you’ll be pleased to hear.”

Despite this audacious statement, his voice is rough and scratchy, and she can see the dark circles under his eyes.  Her decision is suddenly easy.  It’s almost midnight, and there’s nothing else she can do for anyone outside this room tonight.  Most importantly, the person who might just need her the most is stretched out beside her, looking at her as though he’s afraid she might vanish into thin air without warning. 

(She needs him, too.  She just didn’t want to admit it.)

Reaching down, she unzips one boot, then drops it unceremoniously to the floor.  “Got room in there for one more?”  His eyes widen comically, and she gives him a pointed look.  “Just so we’re clear, I’m talking about  _sleeping_.”

Her assertion only seems to amuse him more, his face the picture of injured innocence. She’s seen that expression before, she realises with a start, a long time ago, while she was miles above the ground while clinging to a freaking enchanted beanstalk.

_Ah, the pirate thing._

God, if she’d only known then what she knows now, she thinks. Then again, she might have chained him up a lot sooner.

“Chastely sleeping or otherwise, Swan, staying the night in a pirate’s bedchamber?” He coughs, his right hand touching his chest. “What  _will_ your parents say?”

Thinking of the phone conversation she’d had with her mother just before running into Regina in the diner, Emma grimaces.  She tugs off her other boot, then tosses it to the floor to join its twin. “Tonight my parents are too busy plying Belle with rum-laced tea and telling her she’s done the right thing to worry about where I might be sleeping.”

There’s a sudden stillness in him, as though he’s waiting for the punchline of a joke she didn’t know she was telling. “What’s happened?”

“She made Gold cross the town line.”

He raises himself up on his elbow, his eyes searching hers.  “If he’s crossed the town line-”

“He can’t come back.”   Reaching out, she presses her palm to his face, her thumb tracing the scar on his cheek.  One day, maybe even tomorrow, she’ll ask him to tell her how he got it.  “I gotta say, I’m almost disappointed.”

In the half-light, she sees his jaw clench, his throat working as he swallows hard.  She knows he’s torn, just like her, but that it would be a million times worse for him.  His eyes are glittering, whether with unshed tears or anger, it’s impossible to tell in the darkened room. “Disappointed?”

She holds his gaze steadily, her hand still touching his face.  His skin is warm against her palm.  “I was  _really_ looking forward to punching his lights out.”

That earns her a smile, but it fades quickly, his eyes growing dark. “The Crocodile is a wily one. He’ll not take being banished by his beloved wife lightly.”

Shucking off her jacket, Emma tosses it onto the overstuffed floral-covered armchair a few feet from the bed, then bumps his shoulder with her hip.  “If she was that beloved, he shouldn’t have treated her the way he did.”

He shifts on the bed, making room for her as she stretches out beside him. “You can love someone and still keep secrets from them, love.”

The guilt in his voice wrenches at her heart, and she rolls onto her side, wanting to see his face. “I don’t blame you for  _anything_ that’s happened.”

“Perhaps you should.”  He doesn’t look at her, instead staring at the ceiling as he lies on his back, his expression tight with misery.  “I was foolish enough to think the Crocodile had changed.”  His voice is barely above a whisper, the words seeming to come with an effort. “Instead he exploited my fears, and it almost cost the whole town their lives.”

“He fooled us all,” she mutters, shifting closer until her head rests comfortably on his shoulder.  Feeling the tension in him, she splays her hand flat on his chest, reassured by the steady thump of his heart beneath her palm.  “What do you mean he exploited your fears?” 

He presses his lips into a tight line, as though regretting his words.  Finally, he sighs, turning his head to look at her with dark eyes. “My hand.”

She frowns, then realisation comes with a painful rush.   _Turns out the Dark One’s magic wasn’t all I’d hoped it would be._  Even then, Gold had been playing his nasty little games, and suddenly a whole heap of things make a lot more sense.  She feels more than a little sick in the stomach, and it’s not from the shot of bourbon she’d shared with Regina earlier. 

When she doesn’t speak (she can’t, her voice is caught in her throat, thick with tears), he sighs again.  “I just wanted-” He lifts his left arm, the black leather brace moving darkly in the dim room, then lets it drop to his side once more.  “I wanted more than this for you.”

Her face is wet now, but she doesn’t remember the tears starting.  Her vision blurring, she shifts beside him until she can touch his face, then runs her hand down to grip the brace on his left arm with tight, white-knuckled fingers.  “This is enough for me.”   Bowing her head, she presses her lips to his, and she can’t tell if the tears she can taste are his or hers.  “ _You_  are enough for me.”

“Swan, I need to tell you-”

She kisses the words of protest from his lips, kissing him until he finally relaxes beneath her, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head.  When it’s over, she rests her forehead against his, letting her breathing match itself to his. “Tell me tomorrow, okay.”

He gazes up, his eyes clear and bright and so filled with emotion that she can’t believe it had taken her so long to notice the changes in him.  “I’ve all the time in the world,” he tells her without a trace of irony, and she shakes her head at him. 

“You have  _got_ to stop doing that,” she mutters as she settles herself at his side, one arm draped over his waist, smiling at the feel of his arm curling around her shoulders to pull her close.  “It’s like you’re just asking for trouble.”

“Still a pirate, love.”  A soft chuckle that shakes his chest, even as exhaustion begins to steal his voice.  “And what’s a pirate’s life without a little trouble?”

She snorts, a very unladylike sound, but she’s too tired and contented to care. “You  _do_  remember where we live, right?  I think trouble is pretty much guaranteed.”

His only answer is an almost inaudible snore, and she grins against his shoulder, savouring the heat of his skin through the thin material of his shirt.  Closing her eyes, she feels her body relax for the first time in what seems like weeks, and lets herself hope that maybe, this time, he might actually be right.

 

 

~*~

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Brand New Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3121595) by [msgenevieve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msgenevieve/pseuds/msgenevieve)




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